


Shaking Hands

by RunningInRoses



Category: Persona 5, Persona 5 Royal
Genre: Akira debates whether he really trusts/likes Akechi, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Heavy Spoilers for Royal, I can't have this sitting in my incomplete pile anymore, M/M, Panic Attacks, Ryuji/Akira is like, Thinkpiece, really mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningInRoses/pseuds/RunningInRoses
Summary: Akira will never admit that the moment he almost lost it all, he gave up.He'll never admit it because he needs to be the leader. He needs to be the savior. He needs to be the rock in the river.Even so, the memory still woke him up, weaved maliciously in his dreams until it felt so lucid he could feel the individual fingertips gripping him through his sleeves.-A fic in which Akira grapples with the idea of this new reality he lives in and how it's affecting him mentally.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Undisclosed, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Undisclosed
Kudos: 32





	Shaking Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Big, big spoilers for the ending of Royal and kinda requires you to have seen the good ending to really understand what's going on, I didn't really spell things out.
> 
> Please don't even ask, I wrote the first part of this like months ago and it's been sitting in my drafts for so long I just want it gone lol.
> 
> It's really really surreal this time, so strap in.
> 
> Consider my socials if you must roast me.  
> Twitter: @RoseArting  
> Instagram: @rosearting  
> Tumblr: @riroses

His hands are shaking.

They're shaking so bad he has to clench his fists, subdue the tremble in his arms. He has to breathe through gritted teeth, stabilize his heart in any way he can.

Inside, he feels weak.

Inside, he feels the curl of inky dark around his faith that  _ squeezes _ .

'Please', he thinks in his head, choking on the fear that settles heavily in his throat, 'Please don't.'

He braces for another hit, ready to lose it all at any moment to his friend, his comrade.

Of course, Sumire doesn't know what to do, what to think.

She's lifeless, bound, Cendrillon burnished red in the fury of anguish.

Another Sword Dance and he's dead.

One more hit, just one more hit-

His strength fails him, a desperate use of One-Shot Kill missing the critical he was looking for.

If he had been trembling before, he's quaking now.

It's over.

He's done for.

And, for a moment, he smiles.

Because he's glad he made it this far.

He's glad he had the chance to truly stand up for what he believed, gray and muddled it may be.

Looking to his side, he throws a pitiful look Akechi's way.

He'll go down swinging.

He knows that.

So he closes his eyes.

A rush of wind.

A fizzle past his ear.

A yell.

Hands on his biceps, hauling him onto the floor, crashing hard on his side.

Sparks dance along his nerves.

Tears sting at his eyes.

He only has a moment to look.

Yellow, black, red.

Brown.

Bright.

Hope.

* * *

Akira will never admit that the moment he almost lost it all, he gave up.

He'll never admit it because he needs to be the leader. He needs to be the savior. He needs to be the rock in the river.

Even so, the memory still woke him up, weaved maliciously in his dreams until it felt so lucid he could feel the individual fingertips gripping him through his sleeves.

Morgana shoots off his chest, disturbed from how hard Akira is panting, how hard it is to control the steady salt stream of liquid terror coming from deep within.

Even now, as he looks at his hands, they shake.

A breath in. A breath out.

He leaves his bed quickly, going into the bathroom downstairs to grip at the sink in case his dry heaving gets messy.

The whole time, it plays on repeat.

Inches from death, he felt it.

That lack of will.

Wanting to do anything about the situation. Gone.

No one would let him live it down.

They chose to save their reality. They can't leave the world like this.

_ Akira  _ can't leave the world like this.

And even then, with how much they've been through, he wanted to lay in the bed made for him.

He was ready.

In the dark, he catches the glint of his eyes in the mirror, the wet collecting in the corners. Tacky, his eyelashes stick together.

It reminds him of that damn interrogation room, smelling nothing but blood and tears, feeling nothing but pain and fatigue.

He can't even think about that either. Can't talk about it without consciously stopping himself, curling a hand over his mouth before he lets out a scream at the phantom feeling of cuffs around his wrists, a foot pressing into his thigh- a gun to his head.

Fuck Akechi.

Fuck Akechi.

Even after all this time, it's a bitter undertone.

They're rivals.

That's all they are.

That's where it ended.

And now he's back.

Akira bites his tongue at the implication.

Because he feels it deep down. Knows that this reality isn't right.

Even after he confronted his friends, broke their illusions.

He feels stuck in his own.

And he thinks he knows what it is.

He thinks he knows so well that the burning in his chest comes up and out, dripping off his lips and corroding his esophagus when the torrent finishes.

* * *

The days they spend unravelling Dr. Maruki's mystery, the worse Akira feels.

Because he can relate.

He knows how it is to lose a loved one, how badly it hurts to feel those wounds reopen at every mention. How much you want to change the world for them.

The only saving grace for Akira is that he's already dead. All he can do now is grieve for his loss.

Maruki- he has to live with the knowledge that, while he's done the 'right thing', the future he wanted is still out there, waiting to be grasped if he so much as willed it.

And he doesn't.

Akira doesn't know if that makes the man strong, or foolish.

All he knows is that these sterile, white walls are familiar.

The sweeping glass hallways, the blue tinged lights.

The all-seeing cameras, the two way mirrors.

Monitoring, watching, pristine, clinical.

A perfect encapsulation of the doctor.

Akira laughs sadly to himself when he picks up a paper from a filing cabinet deeper in the palace, reading about Maruki's dreams of research being dashed away from him.

It's an ugly parallel.

He tries his best not to look at Akechi, refusing to take in his stringy hair or his wild eyes.

Because he has to forget.

These dreams aren't what he wants.

He doesn't want to be haunted by a poorly-veiled nightmare in his waking moments.

He's trying to make a better path for himself. He can't keep thinking about the past.

* * *

Akira's hand wavers in front of a white flower growing from the vines along the broken paths of this section of the Palace.

Its colors shift in the light streaming in from the ceiling, opalescent.

"You really love taking your time, don't you?" The insult practically drips with malice.

Akira decides to ignore Akechi's complaining.

He was hoping that it would be better to be thorough, entering a Palace that they didn't even have an idea of what it could hold.

It helped for the screening earlier on, even if all the rooms had practically the same outcome.

Admittedly, investigation isn't why he's shocked still.

It's the sickly sheen over all the flowers, adapting to the light input from the machines littering the entire area.

The same texture of poison ivy.

Akira drops his hand back to his side before he brushes the flower's petals, adjusting his glove.

* * *

The days leading up to February 3rd are some of the most stressful days Akira has ever experienced.

He tries his best to keep himself distracted, working through the day at Rafflesia, working through the night at the Crossroads.

The only breaks he takes are when his friends ask him to listen, which he can't help but do.

As he hears their struggles, apologizing for giving into the temptation that is Maruki's reality, he clenches his teeth in a smile and pushes through them 'It's not your fault'.

Because it isn't. 

Not really.

It's his, for pulling them from their bliss.

It's his, for wanting security in the cruel, painful world.

It's his.

Because he's an idiot who can't forget one man's face.

The few times he catches Akechi in Kichijoji, he turns away and moves past.

He tries to forget.

It's not easy.

He nearly drops a glass tonight, much to Lala's chagrin, when he spots a too familiar tangle of ashy brown hair.

It's not him.

It's not Akechi either.

He has to remind himself of that when he tries to fall asleep, ignoring the shadows in the corners of the room playing tricks with him.

* * *

"Can we talk, man?"

Akira startles up from his phone, catching on Ryuji's pinched face. It's obvious he has something on his mind, beating heart hanging off his sleeve.

So he nods.

He follows Ryuji home that afternoon, greets his mother for the first time very briefly before she runs out to her second of three jobs.

And he sits on a folding chair in Ryuji's room, trying his best to focus and not make much of the situation.

And it starts.

The apology.

Hearing it from everyone else has made him expect it, but he also dreads the moment he has to.

He voices himself with another "It's fine, Ryuji, really."

"But it's not, Kira. You were out here doing your damndest to put us back in the right reality and I just sat around soaking in a dream I didn't even deserve."

Akira's about to protest, 'No, you deserve everything', but Ryuji doesn't give him a chance.

"I can't let myself do that again. I need to be better, to stick true to myself. To you. So you don't have to forgive me."

"Ryuji, I-"

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he chokes on the thought.

He needs to be strong.

But it burns.

How badly he's lying to everyone, to himself.

It sticks, unmovable, muting him.

"It's fine, Akira, really. I know you're too kind to just drop me." The blond chuckles, but it's laced with a deeper note than sarcasm warrants. Something sadder.

"I'm still wrong." He somehow breathes the words, squeezing his hands on his knees so maybe they'll stop twitching. "Still lying."

"Lying?" The concern is near suffocating, cloying.

"I'm an idiot because I can't-" Akira sighs heavily, trying his best to level it so Ryuji doesn't pick up on the tremble.

"Kira, you're far from an idiot-"

"But I'm still living a lie. I can't forget him." He only stares at the floor, eyes unfocused on the view. His chest stutters, throat burning.

He needs to breathe.

For a moment, he looks at Ryuji, takes in his pinched features.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" The blond kneels down in front of Akira, waiting.

"When Cendrillon almost killed me. Why'd you push me out of the way?"

After a moment, when Ryuji processes what Akira asked, he sputters, "Why do you think, man? I wasn't just gonna let you die like that."

He shuts his eyes, away from the fake truth. Squeezes his hands tighter.

"This might've all been better if you hadn't."

Fuck, why did you say that?

"Akira…"

A beat before he runs his mouth again. "You all could've just lived your lives the way you wished if I wasn't here to stop it. You all could've been happy. Maybe he-..."

Shut up, Akira, just shut up.

He tries to ignore the burning of wet tears that wobble along his vision, a distorted world that might be better off without-

"He?"

Don't even-

"Akechi didn't deserve to die. Maybe in this reality he can still live, even if I go."

"Akira, you don't need to die for us to be happy. No one said that-"

He grabs Ryuji's wrist like he's going to toss it away, but his vice gets tighter.

"But I'll stop it. Because I can't help myself, or my morals. I'll forever try to take away this nice little ending because it's written inside of me."

Ryuji's other hand comes up to cover his, unstoppable. It sears an invisible brand into the skin, something he wants to shake off but clings with tight jaws.

"Akira, you owe nobody nothing. You don't have to hold yourself to this crazy standard-"

His nails bite into Ryuji's skin, slicing into his sentence.

"It should've been me."

"Akira-"

"-should've been me-"

"-Kira!"

Strong. Secure. His tan hands steady him, squeeze him.

He isn't even trying to hide it anymore.

Shaking.

"I've already hurt them both. I can't be like this anymore."

Instead of words, Ryuji takes him into his arms. He hugs him as if it's the last time.

"I couldn't help either of them. They both died."

Tighter. His chin digs into his shoulder.

"I can't like you like this. I'll hurt you too."

Circular, soothing sweeps on his back. A buzz in his head.

"I just want you to be happy."

Happy.

He leans into the hug.

* * *

When Akira's panic attack finally blows over, he's able to hold Ryuji's hand proper.

He's still sucking in trembling breaths, the barrel of a gun pressed to his head, but memorizing the grooves in the blond's palm helps.

"We can fix this reality together. I promise." Ryuji smiles at the floor, "You won't have to worry anymore."

He won't. He'll be free.

* * *

When the world comes alive again behind his eyelids, he instantly checks his phone.

He can barely even remember last night, facing Maruki for the last time.

Maybe he blocked it out. He can't be sure.

So he checks his phone.

  
  
  
  


He's gone.


End file.
